


The Fate of the Medjai

by Winterbaby89



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CSSNS, Captain Swan Supernatural Summer, CaptainSwan Supernatural Summer, F/M, The Mummy 1999 CS AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:26:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterbaby89/pseuds/Winterbaby89
Summary: Librarian Emma Nolan joins forces with Ex-Military man Killian Jones on the adventure of their lifetime as they venture out into the deserts of Egypt in search of ancient secrets. They encounter an unforeseen evil determined to resurrect his lost love and rule his new world. Based on the 1999 Brendan Fraser movie The Mummy.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the cssns, it is a re-adaptation/reworking of the 1999 version of the Mummy. This fic has been a labor of love for me, and I truly hope that I have done the movie justice with my CS transmog. Beta'd by the ever lovely ilovemesomekillianjones. Fabulous art by abeylin1982 over on tumblr.  
> Prologue trigger warning: Minor character death during childbirth.

* * *

  **Prologue**

The commanders of the twelve Medjai tribes had seen the war coming. They’d had just enough time to move the women and children to a camp that would remain safely away from the carnage the war to defend Hamunaptra, would surely bring. Taking up arms as they were honor bound to do, they engaged the invaders in a great battle to keep _the creature_ undiscovered.

Elizabeth was eight months along in her pregnancy with her second son when the tribes had to prepare for the coming war. All of the women and children were travelling to a place far and away from the line of fire. All women save for Elizabeth who’d started having complications with her pregnancy, and her favored handmaiden Jasmine. It had been decided that Elizabeth and Jasmine would go to Cairo so she could have her best chance bringing her second son into the world. When it was time to say her farewells to Brennan, he’d told her to meet with their man Nemo at the museum, that he would help her find suitable lodging and medical care. He’d also handed her a packet of parchment, beseeching her to give it to Nemo as soon as she found him. She had kissed her husband goodbye, unsure if she and her oldest son would ever see him again, or if her second son would ever meet his father, but praying that they would. On the morning Elizabeth was to depart for Cairo, she held little Liam just a bit longer than normal, knowing that he’d be fine, and well cared for by all the other women in her absence, but knowing she would also still miss him terribly.

Once the two women arrived in Cairo, Nemo was as accommodating as Brennan had assured her he would be. He got them set up in a small flat halfway between the museum and the hospital, stopping in everyday after his shift to make sure that they had everything they needed.

Finally the day came for the babe to make his way into the world, but unfortunately more complications arose. Elizabeth was hemorrhaging and the doctors were unable to stop the bleeding. They had to make a heartbreaking decision based on her pain filled pleas, she had begged them to get her son out. “Please, save my Killian. If you can’t save us both, please make sure he survives.” Cutting her womb open, they went in to retrieve him as her heart stopped beating. For a few long moments the room was silent, everyone stared at the babe who had yet to scream; the nurse rubbed his back hoping to coax him to take a breath. Finally, after what felt like ages the babe, _Killian,_ made his discontent known with a hearty wail.

With Elizabeth having passed on, and Brennan away at war, the nurse handed Killian to Jasmine, making a comment to the handmaiden. “I’ve never seen a newborn babe born with a mark like that, it looks almost as if it has been tattooed on. It is an interesting symbol, do you know what it means?”

Looking down at the resting babe in her arms, Jasmine feigned ignorance about the importance of his mark, “I think it’s just a birthmark.” Then, looking back to the nurse in front of her, she continued, “Thank you for all you have done. I know you tried to save them both, but Allah had another plan. I shall take the babe home to be with our family.”

Later than usual that afternoon, Nemo had stopped by the residence Elizabeth and Jasmine had been staying in, only to find it empty, without a trace of either woman.

**~~~**

Several years later Nemo received a package, inside he found letters from Jasmine, as well as her personal journals detailing what had happened that fateful day he had discovered her gone, and learned of Elizabeth’s death. She confirmed that Elizabeth had died from complications in childbirth, and that she had taken the babe to London after having been followed by sinister looking men from the hospital to their abode. The men had markings that resembled their most recent enemies, and they’d seemed to know she was of the tribes. When they continued to stake out the place, she’d hurriedly packed all of their worldly possessions and snuck out of a window to get away from them. Feeling that Cairo would not be safe for her or the child, she’d booked passage to London for his safety. Jasmine told him the child’s name is Killian, and even mentioned that he had been born with the symbol of the protector on his wrist. There was a sketch included of what it should look like. Nemo discovered the reason he was receiving these letters was because Jasmine had fallen ill, and would presumably be dead by the time he received her correspondence.

Jasmine had until her dying breath, done everything she could to protect Killian from the enemies of the tribes, so that one day he could rejoin his family, and take his place as the second prince of the preeminent tribe.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Librarian Emma Nolan joins forces with Ex-Military man Killian Jones on the adventure of their lifetime as they venture out into the deserts of Egypt in search of ancient secrets. They encounter an unforeseen evil determined to resurrect his lost love and rule his new world. Based on the 1999 Brendan Fraser movie The Mummy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my contribution to the cssns, it is a re-adaptation/reworking of the 1999 version of the Mummy. This fic has been a labor of love for me, and I truly hope that I have done the movie justice with my CS transmog. Beta'd by the ever lovely ilovemesomekillianjones. Fabulous art by abeylin1982 over on tumblr.

* * *

  **Chapter One**

“I am Warden Blackbeard, I heard you were coming.” Staring at the pair in front of him impatiently as they continue to linger on the other side of the prison entrance, he calls out again. “Come, come! Step over the threshold.” The warden turns and starts walking away from them as he continues, “Welcome to Cairo Prison, my humble home.” Brandishing his arms as if to emphasize the gloriousness of the squalor around them, Blackbeard turns back to face them, to make sure they’re following him.

Stepping into the courtyard, following behind their gracious host, Emma turns to August noticing his skittish behavior, and she levels him with a disappointed gaze as realization dawns on her. Emma edges closer to him as the warden continues to lead the way. “August! You told me you got it on a dig down in Thebes.” Emma notes that the warden is leading them towards a cell along the far wall.

August looks anxious, but not remorseful in the slightest, as he replies, “Well, I was mistaken.”

Narrowing her eyes, Emma retorts, “Mistaken my foot. You lied to me.”

August just shrugs as he quips, “I lie to everybody, Emma, what makes you so special?”

Responding with indignance, Emma has to be mindful of how loud she is speaking as she snaps, “I am your sister.”

“That just makes you more gullible.”

August says it so blithely that Emma’s annoyance with him rises all the higher. She quickly and forcefully pinches August’s bicep where her hand rests, as she accuses, “You stole it from a drunk at the local casbah.”

August starts turning them to head back towards the entrance so they can leave. “Picked his pocket, actually. So I don't think it's a very good idea-”

Emma cuts him off, yanking them back towards the cell the warden is leading them towards. “Stop being so ridiculous.” Emma pulls August firmly back to her side with the arm she still has looped through his.

“What exactly is this man in prison for?” Emma asks the warden.

“This I do not know. But when I heard that you were coming, I asked him that myself.”

“And what did he say?” Her curiosity is definitely piqued regarding the man August stole the map to Hamunaptra from.

Raising his hand in the air and flicking his wrist with a flourish, he answers, “He said he was just looking for a good time.”

 

* * *

 

 _After her_ small _mishap in the museums’ library earlier, she’d gotten a right scolding from Curator Nemo about her constant clumsiness. He had demanded that she put the library back to rights, however long it might take. He had taken her pride down a few notches with his verbal lashing, making her feel even worse about the rejection she had received from the Bembridge Scholars earlier that day._

 _As Emma was contemplating how to go about fixing the mess, she heard a noise in the storage room just off of the library, so she decided to go see what it was. What Emma discovered was August disrespecting the dead by lying with a skeleton in an open sarcophagus. He was clearly drunk... again_ . _He claimed his career was on a high note (ha!), and that he had finally found something of value to present to the curator. She had been wary after all the junk he had asked her to present to Nemo over the years, until she saw what it was that he’d found. It looked like her older brother had actually found something legitimate from his dig down in Thebes._

 _Emma had excitedly presented the map to Nemo with August beside her; she had even gone so far as to prepare her presentation before bringing it to his attention. She’d dated the map, amongst other things, based on the cartouche in the corner, signifying that it had belonged to Seti the first. Nemo had been skeptical during her presentation of the map that depicted the location of the ancient burial site_ Hamunaptra _. As she had been explaining the significance of the map to August, the map had accidentally caught fire on the corner depicting Hamunaptra’s exact location, causing the way to be lost._

 _After leaving Nemo’s office, August confessed to knowing someone who_ might _be able to help them. Thus, how they had ended up at Cairo Prison, with another of August’s fallacies having been brought to light._

 

* * *

 

Emma is snapped out of her retrospection by the loud thud emanating from a disheveled man landing against the bars of the cell in front of them. “This is the man that you stole it from?” Emma asks her brother. She watches with unease while the two guards in the cell force the man to his knees with their batons.

“Yes, exactly. So why don't we just go sniff out a spot of tiffin-” August has become noticeably nervous now that the man is in front of them.

If Emma didn’t know any better, she would say that her brother is scared of this man, and with good reason, based on her quick glance at him. He is tall, taller than August by almost a head, broad shouldered, very solidly built, but he still looks to be very agile.

The man they are here to see finally speaks after giving them a brief appraising look. “Who are you, and... who’s the broad?”

Emma is stunned by the coarse greeting tossed out by the man in the cage. “Broad?” she scoffs with a hint of disdain. _This man truly is a heathen,_ she thinks to herself _._

August almost squeaks as he startles and stutters out a response, “I- I'm just a local sort of missionary chap, spreading the good word.” August is now fidgeting in full, and is perspiring harder the longer this man looks at him. “And this, this is my sister Emma,” he introduces her as he pulls her toward the cell.

Emma gives a polite yet stiff, “How do you do?”

“Oh, well…” Emma watches him give her another appraising look before he looks in her eyes, and says, “I guess she's not a total loss.”

“I beg your pardon?” Emma asks offendedly. She is quite done with his continued barbs.

“I'll be back in a moment.” Blackbeard tosses out over his shoulder as he walks away to deal with something else across the courtyard.

“Ask him about the box,” August mumbles into her ear as he nudges Emma forward.

“Um, we have found... Uh, hello. Excuse me.” Catching the man’s attention again as he looks back at her from whatever Blackbeard was dealing with. “We both found your… your puzzle box… and we've come to ask you about it.”

“No.”

The abrupt _no_ is enough to make Emma’s head spin. How dare this filthy heathen refuse her, not even an explanation, just… _no_ . Does he not realize what he looks like in this moment? His time in a cell has certainly taken its toll. He hasn't bathed, his clothes are dirty, but then again, maybe he is used to getting by on those good looks of his. Because underneath the grime and the muck... he is attractive, undeniably so, but it doesn't matter though. _He has been nothing but rude and condescending, and there is absolutely nothing to like about him,_ she tells herself. Emma eyes his disheveled, black hair, and thick black beard with flecks of red throughout, then looks back to his startlingly too blue eyes, eyes that haven’t stopped appraising her face.

Determined to get an answer, Emma turns the man’s word back at him, and questions, “No?”

His immediate response to her question is an infuriating smirk slowly crawling across his too handsome face. _Handsome? No, absolutely not!_ She will not be attracted to this barbarian if it is the last thing she does. _How is this man, in a cage, inside a prison, so frustrating? One would think he’d be more accommodating!_

He finally responds to her inquiry after a long moment of apparent self satisfaction. “No. You came to ask me about Hamunaptra.”

Emma was not expecting _that_ answer from him, it appears he is more intelligent than his pretty face would convey. “H-How do you know the box pertains to Hamunaptra?”

“Because that's where I was when I found it. I was there.” The way his eyebrows climb up his forehead with his smirk still in place, Emma can only describe his expression as condescending.

August makes his way almost flush to the bars, stoops over to be eye level with the kneeling man that has been subtly taunting them, and finally speaks up to ask, “And how do we know that's not a load of pigs wallow?”

The stranger in the cage squints up at August now that he is closer, pointing at him with a pensive look on his face as he asks, “Do I know you?”

“What? No, no, no. I've just got one of those faces.” August tries his best to sell his answer, but his nervousness is plain as day.

Emma _almost_ feels bad for her brother, but she also feels a bit satisfied that something about this man, this stranger, this brute, has her typically unflappable brother nervous. Before Emma really gets a chance to contemplate _that_ too much, the man’s fist shoots out from between the bars, in a short but powerful punch, landing squarely along August’s jaw, effectively knocking him out cold. _That’ll probably leave a bruise,_ she muses.

As the brute is retracting his arm back into his cage, something on his wrist catches her attention. _Is that a tattoo? That almost looks like an ancient hieroglyph, but it can’t be, can it? Does that mean he appreciates the dead language, as I do?_ Before she can even blink, the two guards in the cell are raining blows down on the prisoner for the punch he just landed on her brother. Their tirade is over almost as quickly as it had begun. The man is still hunched over trying to compose himself, clinging to the bars to keep himself upright for a few moments. Emma catches a glimpse of something dark on his wrist again. It does indeed look to be a hieroglyph.

Putting thoughts of his tattoo out of her mind for the moment, Emma finally manages to ask, “You were actually at Hamunaptra?”

A shit eating grin breaks out across his face before he answers, “Yeah, I was there.” _He does look good when he smiles, even if he is being an ass. Wait, what? Emma, no! I need to stop thinking this foolishness._

“You swear?”

“Every damn day.” His smile just grows wider, _ass_ .

 _He may have looks, but now I’m starting to doubt his intelligence, or does he just enjoy taunting me so?_ “I didn't mean that-”

“I know. I know what you meant.” Seeming to sense her frustration with his continued dancing around a straight answer, he moves both hands in an _almost_ placating motion as he continues, “I was there. Seti's place. City of the Dead.”

“Could you tell me how to get there? I mean, the exact location.”

The man's eyes widen as he does a double take, almost as though he is certain he did not hear her correctly. For a moment he stares at her like she has lost her mind, even though he’s the one in prison, and has no room to judge her, but the next second his mask is back in place. This is the first genuine expression he's offered since he was brought before her and August. Emma is intrigued by the man beneath the surface. She has seen the crack in his blasé façade, now Emma just has to figure out how to go about convincing him to help her.

He now wears an expression of seriousness as he asks, “You want to know?”

“W-Well, yes,” she states, stepping over her brother’s limp form. As she gets closer she notices the tattoo on his wrist again. She is fascinated by it, and wonders if it is indeed an actual hieroglyph.

“Do you really want to know?” Her eyes snap back to his face at his question.

“Yes,” she answers again as he beckons her closer.

He firmly places his hand on her chin and pulls her in the last inch, then presses his lips to hers briefly. In a hurried grumble, as the guards are ripping him away from the bars, he says, “Then get me the hell out of here!”

Emma stares in shock as the guards continue to pull him back and begin beating him again, this time he puts up a fight, getting some hits of his own in as the guards have to bodily lift and drag him back inside the prison walls.

Right before they slam the door she hears his final yell, “Do it, lady!”

“Where are they taking him?” Emma demands of the warden.

“To be hanged. Apparently, he had a very good time.”

 

* * *

 

The warden has brought her up to his private observation balcony to watch the hanging, and she is desperately scrambling to figure out a way to stop these horrendous proceedings. Emma calls out the first thing that comes to her mind.

“I will give you 100 pounds to save this man's life.”

“Madame, I would pay 100 pounds just to see him hang.” Emma hears the hangman call out in Arabic that the prisoner’s last request is that they loosen the knot and let him go. The warden yells out from his seat next to her, “Ya Hmar! Of course we don't let him go!”

If not for the dire circumstance, Emma might have giggled at the stupidity of the hangman’s question and the warden calling him a donkey. She jumps in her seat as the hangman lands a solid slap to the back of _her_ prisoner’s head, and then proceeds to tighten the noose around his neck. _My prisoner? No, that’s not right._ She chastises herself for the loss of her sensibilities, she needs to be more concerned about saving this man’s life, she still doesn’t even know his name, not trying to stake some kind of claim to him, even though he did kiss her.

“Five! Five hundred pounds!” She doesn’t want to contemplate why her sense of panic is so high at the prospect of this man's death. It has to be because he’s her only way to find Hamunaptra. That’s it, nothing else could be the cause, no, not at all.

“And what else? I'm a _very_ lonely man.”

Emma is thoroughly repulsed by the way he sets his hand on her knee and attempts to slide it towards her thigh. She gives his a hand a sharp smack from her clutch, causing the entire prison population to break out into raucous laughter, much to the warden’s humiliation.

In retaliation to her spurning his advances, he yells out, “Yalla tlak!”

Emma yells an impassioned, _No!,_ as the hangman pulls the lever, dropping the hatch. She is forced to her feet by the full force of her fear for this man, and indignation at the warden for proceeding.

Emma wants to punch Blackbeard for his level of glee as he calls out, “Ha ha! His neck did not break! Oh, I'm so sorry. Now we must watch him strangle to death.”

Retaking her seat, she knows that she must keep a level head, the man sat to her left is the only chance for the prisoner to be saved, so she goes for a last ditch effort.

“He knows the location to Hamunaptra.”

“You lie.”

“I would never!”

“Are you telling me this filthy, godless son of a pig knows where to find the City of the Dead?”

“Yes!”

“Truly?”

“Yes! And if you cut him down, we will give you…” Emma chews her bottom lip contemplatively for a moment before calling out, “Ten percent.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty!”

“Twenty-five.”

Jumping on the fact that he came down lower, Emma enthusiastically yells out, “Ha! Deal.” It is still more than she wants to give the cretin of a man, but it’s not astronomical in the grand scheme of things.

A look of realization crosses his face as he realizes that he has just shorted himself out of the possibility of more, but a deal is a deal. “Ahh!” he whines in annoyance, “cut him down!”

Emma stands from her seat feeling rather proud of herself as she looks down at the man lying curled up and coughing on the ground beneath the gallows. “Now warden, if you would be so kind as to pass along a message to our friend down there when he is no longer seeing stars?”

Blackbeard nods his head in ascent letting her know she can proceed.

“He is to meet my brother and I at Giza Port, day after tomorrow. We’ll be on the boat that leaves at eleven in the morning. That should be enough time to give him, my brother, and myself time to make the necessary arrangements.”

“I will pass along your message to Mr. Jones madame, I bid you good day.”

“I really must go attend to my brother. Day after tomorrow warden, I expect to see Mr. Jones at eleven.”

“My word is my bond Miss Nolan, I will give him the message.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tiffin* is an Indian English word for a type of meal. It can refer to the midday luncheon or, in some regions of the Indian subcontinent, a between meal snack, or in South Indian usage, a light breakfast. When used in place of the word "lunch", it does not necessarily mean a light meal.  
> *Ya Hmar* means donkey/jackass in Arabic.  
> *Yalla tlak* means hurry up/now in Arabic.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my contribution to the cssns, it is a re-adaptation/reworking of the 1999 version of the Mummy. This fic has been a labor of love for me, and I truly hope that I have done the movie justice with my CS transmog. Beta'd by the ever lovely ilovemesomekillianjones. Fabulous art by abeylin1982 over on tumblr. Hopefully late is better than never... it's been a heckuva weekend...

* * *

  **Chapter Two**

Emma is a myriad of mixed emotions this morning. Annoyance, frustration, concern, doubt, self-reproach, and agitation. She has been out of sorts since the trip to the prison, her world having been thrown off kilter ever since meeting the confounding prisoner with the intriguing tattoo. Emma had hoped delving into all of the necessary preparations would distract her from the whimsical thoughts about the enigmatic man and his kiss.

Emma and August are making their way through the bustling port towards their boat, when she can no longer keep her gnawing concerns from the last couple of days to herself. “Do you really think he's going to show up?” As she waits for August’s response, Emma wonders, _How is it that I am the one carrying all of our bags?_ As her thought processes, she stops, and sets the bags down just before reaching their boarding ramp. Emma looks up at August in anticipation of his response.

August turns to face her with a forced air of confidence, and with false bravado he says, “Undoubtedly, knowing my luck. He may be a rogue, but I know the breed. His word is his bond.”

 _Well that doesn’t help me one bit, I am trying to despise this man._ As she tries to reinforce her internal battle, Emma scathes, “Well, personally I think he's filthy, rude, and a complete scoundrel. I don't like him one bit.”

“Anyone I know?”

Hearing the dulcet tones right behind her ear, she nearly jumps out of her skin at the unexpected intrusion of the man in question.

Feeling caught in her tirade, Emma turns to face the owner of the voice. Finally getting a good look at him in a groomed state, she loses the retort that was on her tongue. “Oh!” Emma finally manages to stutter out, “Um… hello.” She is flustered by the embodiment of Mr. Jones, and feeling utterly fuckstruck.

August seems to sense the thick tension hanging in the air as Emma and Mr. Jones continue to stare at each other, oblivious to the world rushing around them. “Smashing day for the start of an adventure, eh, Jones?” August says, playfully patting the man on the chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, smashing.” Jones looks dubiously at August before double checking that his wallet is still in his jacket pocket.

August catches on to Jones’ intent, and tries to save face by saying, “Oh, no, no, I'd never steal from a partner… partner.”

“That reminds me. No hard feelings about the-” Jones mimes a punching motion towards August’s face as he seems to be trying to gauge how much of a grudge her brother might be holding onto for his actions at the prison.  

August waves off Jones’ concerns and laughs at the absurdity, stating, “Oh, no, no. Happens all the time.”

Emma is trying to put on a show of authority as she attempts to suss out the legitimate intentions of their newest travelling companion. She turns to look the man in the eye, startlingly blue eyes _,_ _not now Emma_ , she confronts him, “Mr. Jones. Can you look me in the eye and guarantee me this isn't some kind of a… a flimflam? Because if it is, I am warning you-”

Seeming to have had enough of her sideways accusations, he cuts her off mid sentence. “You're warning me? Lass, let me put it this way… my whole damn garrison believed in this so much… that without orders, they marched halfway across Libya and into Egypt to find that city. When we got there, alI we found… was sand and blood.” Looking down at her feet, he notices the bags next to her. He affixes a pleasant smile on his face and tries to mollify her with a polite, “Let me get your bags for you.”

August, never one to miss an opportunity to needle or get a rise out of his sister, circles behind her as she continues to watch Mr. Jones ascend the gangplank, watching his back, _and maybe another fine asset_. “Yes, yes, you're right. Filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel. Nothing to like there at alI,” he teases.

Turning to face her brother fully, _and to tear her gaze away from Mr. Jones, for her sanity,_ Emma glowers at August for his smug condescension. She tries leveling him with a withering glare when she hears another familiar, but even more unpleasant voice call out from behind her. “Bright good morning to alI.”

Emma turns to see Warden Blackbeard standing a few feet behind her, and stares in disbelief that he actually came. He hadn’t even been invited! She calls out with disdain, “Oh, no. What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to protect my investment, thank you very much,” Blackbeard calls out as he turns to make his way up the gangplank, following Mr. Jones’ path from a few moments before.

Emma takes another moment to compose herself and muster her strength to deal with all of the unexpected twists that have already been thrown her way so early in the day. Not wanting to miss the boat, Emma walks aboard, pulling August in her wake.

* * *

Killian is still trying to wrap his head around the last three years. He’d gone from a stellar military career where he was betrayed by his closest friend, to a years long bender where the bottom of his rum bottle was as far as he looked into his future. And now, in recent weeks he’d been arrested, thrown into that pathetic excuse of a prison, condemned to death for ultimately minor infractions, and now he had been rescued by the single most captivating woman he’d had the pleasure of meeting. So captivating, he can’t seem to get _his swan_ out of his head, no matter what he tries. _Bloody hell mate, you have surely gone daft if you think she’s yours._ He really ought to thank her for saving his life though. He had stopped by her room a few minutes prior and knocked, but there had been no response. Making his way towards the outer deck, he decides to see if maybe she is seated at one of the many tables.

As he makes his way out onto the deck, the first thing he comes across is August seated at a table with three men he doesn’t recognize. He overhears one of the Americans, judging by the accent, call out to one of the others, “Quit playin' with your glasses and cut the deck, Walsh.”

“Without my glasses I can't see the deck to cut it, Neal,” Walsh quips back.

Having finally noticed Killian standing just behind him, August calls out, “Jones, sit down, sit down. We could use another player.”

Killian shakes his head as he re-adjusts the bag slung over his shoulder. “I only gamble with my life, never my money.”

“Never?” the one named Neal questions, giving him a disbelieving look. He looks back down to the cards he’s dealing out as he offers, “What if I was to bet you $500 we get to Hamunaptra before you?”

“You're looking for Hamunaptra?” Killian isn’t sure he fully covers the disbelief in his tone as he asks his question.

Neal answers matter of factly, “Damn straight we are.”

Killian knows that he hasn’t told anyone about their adventure, and Emma doesn’t seem the type to tell just anyone about something of this magnitude, so he feels compelled to ask, “And who says we are?”

“He does.” The three Americans speak in unison as they point at August without so much as looking up from their hands.

After a few moments, Neal looks up at Killian expectantly, asking, “Well? How 'bout it? Is it a bet?”

Feeling confident that it will be easy money, Killian agrees. “Alright, you're on.”

A previously unnoticed man at the next table asks, “What makes you so confident, sir?”  

“What makes you?” Killian is genuinely intrigued at the level of confidence these foreigners are exuding.

Looking very proud of himself, Neal says, “We got us a man who's actually been there.”

“Oh, what a coincidence, because Jones-” August is cut off when Killian none-too-gently smacks him in the back of the head with his duffle bag, under the guise of transferring it from one shoulder to the other. August catches the hint, and tries to cover his near flub by asking, “Whose play is it? Is it- Is it my play? I thought-” August trails off again as the other men continue to play their hands.

Leaning forward over August’s shoulder and applying a rather painful grip, Killian politely says, “Gentlemen, we got us a wager. Good evening.” Giving August’s shoulder a final squeeze before heading on his way, Killian says in a polite but menace filled tone, “August.”

“Good night.” August gives another awkward laugh as he returns Killian’s farewell.

Killian is still contemplating this unnamed person assisting the Americans, that has presumably survived the hell that is Hamunaptra as well, when he finally spots _his swan_. He walks up to the table where she is sat reading a book, and slings his bag onto the table. Seeing Emma flinch at the thud his bag makes, he decides to apologize, as he takes the open seat opposite her. “Sorry.” He lets out a nervous laugh before continuing, “Didn't mean to scare you.” _Why does this woman make me feel like I’m fifteen-years-old with my first crush?_

Emma looks up at Killian with boredom before she says, “The only thing that scares me, Mr. Jones, are your manners.”

“So, um, on that note, Swan, I wanted to thank you… for… for the other day. I do appreciate you saving my neck, when you didn’t have to.”

“Oh! Um… you’re welcome. It was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it? You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

“No! God no. Do I really look like the type to kill someone?”

“Well. Actually… yes. You do look perfectly capable of it.”

“If you must know, I drank my weight in rum, and tried to leave without paying my bill.”

“Oh. Well, it’s still a crime, but not one they should have been sending you to the hangman for.”

“Right you are, Swan.” With that confusion cleared up, Killian unrolls his bag and starts taking stock of the various weapons and supplies that he has or is in need of replenishing at port before they start making their way deep into the desert.

“Um, did I miss something? Are we-” Emma’s voice trails off, and Killian looks up noting the partly concerned and partly perplexed look on her face as she gingerly handles the knife that was secured to the bag closest to her. Setting the knife back down, Emma meets his eye, and continues her question. “Are we going into battle?”

“Lass, there's something out there. Something underneath that sand.”

“Well, I would hope so, I'm hoping to find a certain artifact. A book, actually. My brother thinks there is treasure to be found. What do you think's out there?”

“In a word? Evil. The natives believe that Hamunaptra is cursed.”

“Oh, look, I don't believe in fairy tales and hokum, Mr. Jones… but I do believe one of the most famous books in history is buried there. The Book of Amun-Ra. It contains within it alI the secret incantations of the old kingdom. It's what first interested me in Egypt when I was a child. It's why I came here… sort of a life's pursuit.”

“And the fact that they say it's made out of pure gold makes no nevermind to you? Right?”

“You know your history.”

“I know my treasure Swan.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what, Swan?”

“That! Swan. Why do you keep calling me Swan?”

“OH!” Blushing violently at the fact that he had been caught and called out for calling her Swan, Killian can’t help his nervous tick. Trying not to rub a hole through the back of his head, Killian stammers out his apology. “Uh… ah… apologies about that Miss Nolan, I ah… I didn’t realize I was.” _Out loud anyways._ He thinks to himself ruefully.

“How did you come up with Swan? It isn’t even remotely close to my name Mr. Jones.”

“Well, I noticed that.” He points at her locket, and adds, “At the prison, and, well, in addition to your graceful beauty, you possess the fearless demeanor, fierceness and tenacity of a swan. Have you ever met one?” Emma shakes her head no. “Well, I assure you, you wouldn’t ever want to get on their bad side. They’ll rip a man to shreds if you offend them.” Killian levels a pointed look Emma’s way, accompanied with a lifted brow for emphasis, as a light blush creeps up her cheeks, and she looks down at the pendant she has clutched between her fingers.

Emma finally looks up from the locket she’s been fiddling with for a few long moments, a wistful look still on her face. “This is all I have left of my parents.”

“Well, it is lovely. Just like you, Swan.”

Emma clears her throat, looking away from Killian’s searching gaze, landing on his wrist laying atop his recently assembled gun. “I, um, I could decipher that for you, if, if you’d like.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Don’t care.”

“But-”

“Just drop it Swan, and leave it at that, please.”

“But, aren’t you curious-”  

“No, and I really wish you’d drop it.”

“Why? Why would you get a tattoo if you hate it?”

“Why do you need to know, Swan?” he grits out through clenched teeth, turning to face her fully. “Can’t you just leave it be?”

“W-What?”

“ _I_ didn’t get a tattoo, if you really must know. It was branded on me when I was in an orphanage in London, so that I could be singled out, to warn any prospective parents to steer clear of me, the undesirable, broken child. Not worthy of love or attention. My family didn’t want me, abandoned me to the streets when I was but a wee lad, too damaged to love. When I was found wandering the streets half alive, the orphanage intake decided to brand me to keep me from ever finding someone to love me.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears, “I- I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have pushed,” she said, hanging her head in contrition. “I was simply curious and let it get away from me.” Emma looked back at him, tears still shimmering in the corners of her eyes, making Killian feel even more like an ass for his outburst. Before he could say anything though, she started speaking again, “I was just excited by the sight of an ancient hieroglyph, and I let my mouth run away with me without thinking about the potentially painful possibilities. I truly am sorry, and I do hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course I can forgive you, Swan. I also feel like I should apologize for my boorish behavior, I overreacted to your inquiry, like a true heathen. A man should never yell at a lady. So, for my bad form, I apologize. Can you forgive me, Swan?” As he waits for her reply he picks up the gun he was loading before their conversation took the sour turn. He tries to keep himself busy, trying not to wonder if he has already screwed everything up.

“Of course…” she murmurs as she trails off. Her eyes taking on a faraway look momentarily. “Um… by the way… why did you kiss me?”

“I was about to be hanged. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Looking back at the gun in his hand, he shrugs halfheartedly, not having given his reasons much thought past his imminent death sentence and the availability of a gorgeous, feisty woman in front of him. Nevermind the fact that he’s thought about that kiss ever since, he’s a smarter man though than to tell _her_ that.

“Oh! Ugh!” Emma stands up out of her chair pushing past him, she mutters a barely audible, “Men.”

“What?” He looks after her, confused, “What'd I say?” She doesn’t look back at him, so he stands as he contemplates following her to find out what he’s done wrong this time, when he hears a suspicious noise a few feet down the deck near a tower of crates.

Killian quickly makes his way towards the noise. Rounding the crates, he grabs the person cowering in the shadows, prompting a squeaky greeting from the man he now has ahold of by the front of his shirt. “My good friend, you're alive! I was so very, very worried.”

“Well, if it ain't my _good_ buddy, Arthur.” Killian cocks the gun still in his hand and levels it flush to Arthur’s heart as he grits out, “I think I'll kill you.”

Arthur lets out a terrified squeak as he quickly says, “Think of my children.”

Killian pauses for half a moment before he tightens his grip as he replies, “You don't have any children.”

“Someday I might.”

Killian is getting annoyed with Arthur and his antics, and he would be completely justified to shoot Arthur after his betrayal. Snapping out, “Shut up!” Killian takes a moment to reign in his baser urges, so he doesn’t do something he might regret. “So you're the one who's leading the Americans,” he voices his growing suspicion. “I might have known. What's the scam? You take them out into the desert, and then you leave them to rot?”

Arthur looks almost ashamed of himself, but the look quickly disappears before he responds, “Unfortunately, no. These Americans are smart. They only paid me half now, and the other half when I get them back to Cairo. So this time I must go all the way.” Killian’s blood boils at the flippancy of Arthur’s attitude, and his despondency about being unable to abandon the men to their fate’s in the desert because he’s only been paid half of his promised price.

“Them's the breaks, huh?”

“You never believed in Hamunaptra, Jones. Why are you going back?”

“You see that girl?” Killian turns Arthur bodily with his continued grip on the other man’s shirt, and points to Emma at the far end of the deck. “She saved my neck.” Emma seems to sense their eyes on her, she looks up and sees that it is him, and she is apparently still annoyed with him, so she storms off in the direction of their cabins.

Arthur smirks up at him as Killian’s eyes follow Emma’s departure, and with a small laugh and pat on his shoulder, Arthur says, “You always did have more balls than brains.”

“Yeah…” Killian feels some satisfaction at the confusion that crosses Arthur’s face as he bodily lifts him and tosses him over the rail and off of the ship, as he says, “Good-bye, Arthur.”

As Killian walks back to his duffle bag full of gear and weaponry, he hears Arthur’s panicked screech of, “Jones!” over all of the flailing and splashing noise his former best friend is making in the water.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews feed the muse. Please let me know what you thought.  
> See you in two weeks with the next chapter.


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